Countless worlds are ever circling Through the boundless realms of space, And the God whose hand has made them Keeps each orb in its true place All revolve in perfect order. Harmony complete we see, Vet the Clod whose will they follow Is the God who thinks of me. Oh. the tK*ace tins knowledge give* me. 'Mid the cares and toils of life. And how surely it can lift ine Far above earth's din and strife. For I know the darkest shadows At my Father’s bidding flee. And I sing through days of sadness For I know He thinks of me. W R
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/periodicals/WHIRIB19340618.2.17
Bibliographic details
White Ribbon, Volume 39, Issue 465, 18 June 1934, Page 5
Word Count
103Untitled White Ribbon, Volume 39, Issue 465, 18 June 1934, Page 5
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